


The Most Natural Thing in the World

by GracelingwithPoiseWithoutGrace



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU- Not in the NHL, Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends to Lovers, But mostly fluff, Fluff, Freddie is Super Caring and a Great Bro, Friends to Lovers, Just let them be soft and kind and tender, M/M, Sorry that I made Mitch a Jerk, Sweet, Texting, Tiny bit of Angst, Vague Feeling of Illness, Walk-in Clinic, let them hold hands, silent love confessions, soft bois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracelingwithPoiseWithoutGrace/pseuds/GracelingwithPoiseWithoutGrace
Summary: Auston Matthews hasn't been to a doctor in nine years. But on Friday night, he's somehow found himself alone in a cubicle at the nearby walk-in clinic while the rest of his friends are out drinking. But who shows up to keep Auston company, and whose gentle, quiet support reveals itself to be something bigger than Auston had ever thought?(This author stans one Frederik Anderson and lives for goalie tropes)





	The Most Natural Thing in the World

**Author's Note:**

> So this is another thing I wrote for my creative writing class, and then changed the names around to make it fanfic. The prompt was walk-in clinic, so I wrote this.
> 
> I'm in love with Soft Bois (TM) and I want more Freddie/Auston fics, so I wrote the fic I want to see in the world. I also realized that I am "writing the boys I want to see in the world" lol, and they are all Soft and Gentle and Sweet.
> 
> I apologize for the characterization of Mitch Marner. He's exaggerated and I know I made him bad. But I still have a soft spot for him in this fic even tho he is narcissistic.
> 
> I have a lot of soft squishy feelings and thoughts about this fic, so feel free to comment and flail about it with me.

Auston hadn’t been to see a doctor in nine years.

The secretary had looked at him funny when he said that, but he hadn’t been sick, so what was the point? Check-ups were for old people. People who actually had problems. He didn’t have an actual problem -- just a little difficulty sleeping sometimes.

Okay, most of the time.

It wasn’t that he thought there was something really wrong. He’d asked the university nurse about it last year, and she’d said something about watching his vitamins or some shit. And he’d tried that. At least as well as he could -- Auston wasn’t sure he’d done it right. The internet had a lot of confusing opinions on vitamins.

Then, after he’d slipped into a spiral of online medical articles when his insomnia -- he took comfort in using the official word for it -- got especially bad, he was seized with the absolute, terrible certainty that something was Wrong.

It was confusing because there was nothing to pinpoint -- there was no Web MD diagnosis for “kinda tired all the time and now I can’t sleep because I’m freaking out” -- and he was still ding the same shit he’d been doing his whole life. Did it count as a problem if he’d always been like this?

Auston couldn’t figure out the answer. How would he know? Maybe this was the peak of normal. Maybe this was as good as a human body got.

He wasn’t planning to see a doctor. He was supposed to meet the boys right after his shift ended. But his shift had ended early after a pipe burst, and the clinic had been an easy right-hand turn to make off his normal route. It had sat there, with its near-empty parking lot (it was almost always full), daring him to drive by.

But he didn’t. His hands had put on his blinker and turned the wheel, and before he’d thought it through, he was sitting in a freaking clinic.

The whole time before Auston got called up by the nurse, he was arguing with himself : _I shouldn’t be here._ You’re allowed to go to a walk-in clinic, that’s what they’re here for. _But nothing’s actually wrong._ You don’t know that. Something could be wrong. _I'll sound like a hypochondriac._ It’s your body. You know something is wrong. _But I'm not a doctor and everyone else is tired too._ There’s nothing wrong with asking. _Isn’t there?_

Being in the little room alone was worse than sitting in the waiting room. Auston was waiting for someone to tell him he was dying, and for someone to tell him he was a fraud.

Either way, he shouldn’t be here, sitting awkwardly on the reclined couch thing, feeling the crinkly wax paper under his legs. Waiting.

Auston’s phone chimes and he looks down automatically.

**Marns:**

_duuuude_

_where r u_

_ur supposed to b here_

_manny is buying us shotsssss_

Auston sighs. Of course Mitch would bug him about bailing. He looks at the door, but it remains closed. He types a quick response and sends it, hoping that it will be enough to shut Mitch up.

**Matts:**

_I’m busy. Go bug someone else._

Auston’s phone chimes almost immediately. He rubs his face. He stares at his phone. He thinks about throwing it into the empty garbage can across the room. But that wouldn’t stop Mitch.

**Marns:**

_laaaame_

_how can u even b busy ur so lame_

_all ur friends r here_

**Matts:**

_I’m just not feeling it tonight._

_Think I ate something weird today and now my stomach’s all shitty._

There is a fine line to walk between being cagey in a predictable way, and being cagey in a way that would end up with Mitch drunkenly dragging the rest of the crew out of whatever godforsaken bar they’re in to show up where he is.

For a moment, the idea of Mitch and the boys stumbling into the doctor’s office overshadows Auston’s nervous anticipation. He has to laugh.

His phone chimes.

**Marns:**

_fyyyyne u loser_

_ill get extra shots n drink them for u_

**Matts:**

_Yeah bud you do that_

  
_Make sure someone gets you home, alright?_

**Marns:**

_yeet_

Auston stares at Mitch’s last text, not sure if that was a convincing answer. He knows that Freddie’s probably out with them, and that he’d keep an eye on Mitch, but there’s a difference between ‘keeping an eye on Mitch’ and ‘successfully keeping Mitch out of trouble.’

Trying not to imagine all the dumb shit Mitch might be doing, Auston rubs his hands over his beard, his eyes drifting to the closed door. He shakes his head and returns to his phone, this time texting a different number.

**Matty:**

_Hey, Freddie, are you out with Mitchy?_

**Freddie:**

_Yeah, why?_

_And where are you?_

_Marns is complaining that you’re being lame_

_Are you being lame, Matthews?_

**Matty:**

_Fuck off Freddie_

_I’m sick okay_

**Freddie:**

_Shit, really?_

_My bad_

**Matty:**

_Don’t worry about it, it’s not that bad._

Auston has to take a break after writing that. He stares at the embarrassingly 90s poster depicting the human circulatory system. It’s not Bill Nye, but it might as well be. It has the bright, almost clashing colours, the wacky font, and the body model is either dancing or dying. Auston can’t tell.

Auston shifts on the bench thing, and the crinkling of the paper seems louder than ever. He can hear two people talking outside his room coming closer -- _the doctor, the nurse, they’re here_ \-- and he holds his breath, some childish part of him thinking that if they can’t hear him, they won’t find him. They pass by his door and their voices fade away.

His phone chimes. He looks down and exhales as he sees the latest text from Freddie, standing out in bright green judgment.

**Freddie:**

_Dude. Come on._

Auston’s shoulders stop climbing to his ears and he breathes.

**Matty:**

_I’m just getting something checked out_

**Freddie:**

_…_

Auston clenches his hand around his phone. Fuckin’ typical Freddie. _Can’t leave well enough alone._

The stupid part is that Auston wants to give a better reply. He wants to give a concise, simple answer summarizing his problem and its solution. He hates the uneasy sense of wrongness, of not knowing what’s happening in his own body.

**Matty:**

_I don’t know if I’m sick or not_

_I just don’t feel good sometimes_

He hesitates before adding:

**Matty:**

_I can’t sleep?_

Freddie’s reply is instantaneous. Auston imagines him sitting in the booth of some bar, surrounded by Mitch being stupidly drunk or drunkenly stupid, and Gally and Chucky and the rest of them egging Mitch on. He imagines Freddie being with everyone, the loud music and the flashing strobe lights from the dance floor occasionally lighting up Freddie’s face.

He’s probably curled over his phone, chewing his lip and frowning in that stoic way he always does. Auston’s stomach feels funny imagining that.

He shakes his head and reads Freddie’s reply.

**Freddie:**

_What do you mean?_

**Matty:**

_Like I can’t fall asleep anymore._

_I roll around and around and my brain just won’t shut up_

_And then when I need to do work, it’s like jelly and slush and slow_

**Freddie:**

_Is anybody there with you?_

**Matty:**

_???_

**Freddie:**

_At the doctor’s office you dork_

Auston looks around the offensively inoffensive room again. The walls are the same mild mint green as before, but now the room feels hollow. He hunches over to type on his phone.

**Matty:**

_Nah_

_I didn’t want anyone to worry_

**Freddie:**

_…_

Auston scowls and punches out his reply.

**Matty:**

_Fuck ur judgmental dots dude_

**Freddie:**

_They’re judgy because you did something dumb, Matty._

Auston can’t help the flush that runs through him when he reads the text. Freddie hasn’t called him Matty since sophomore year.

His phone chimes again.

**Freddie:**

_Text me the address_

Auston stares at the text, blinking slowly. He begins to type out a question -- He stops. He deletes it. Auston types out the address instead, each finger tapping one letter after the other.

**Matty:**

_1132 Hawthorne. Third floor. Dr. Hendricks._

Freddie doesn’t reply to his text, and the longer the time in between texts, the more foolish Matty feels.

He turns his phone face down onto the stupid waxy paper and lets himself lie down on the stupid bench, staring at the stupid ceiling.

_Ding._

For thirty seconds, Auston thinks about not answering. Then he bends his arm at the elbow so he can curl his hand back to grab his phone from somewhere underneath his bicep. He brings the phone to his face.

He closes his eyes. Disappointment hovers in his throat even as he tries to shove it away. He makes himself open his eyes and read Mitch’s texts.

**Marns:**

_Dude Freddie left wtf_

_he was my ride thoooooo_

_how am I supposed to get home_

_hellooo???_

_matts ur around somewhere right_

_can u pick me up?_

_i dont wanna pay for an uber_

_Mattssssss_

Auston stares at the texts for longer than he should, torn between confusion and frustration. Eventually, he manages to type out something in reply.

**Matts:**

_Idk Mitch you’re an adult_

_Figure it out_

_Ask Gally_

Auston lies back on the bench thing, staring at the speckled ceiling, his head spinning, until he hears another chime. He tilts his phone up on his chest to look at it.

**Marns:**

_eyyyy_

_Gally’s a bro_

_and NOT drunk_

_Keep it 100 Matts_

Auston swallows hard before closing his eyes. Maybe he can sneak a nap now that baby Mitchy is looked after. Auston stifles a snicker at the idea of the doctor finding him passed out on the bench. Considering that he’s there ostensibly for insomnia, it would be the height of irony.

In the middle of a flicker of his eyelids as sleep chases him, Auston hears the door open.

His eyes open right away and he swings himself up into a sitting position, his brain thick and sleep still close behind.

It’s Freddie.

Auston blinks and rubs his eyes while Freddie takes the two steps needed to get across the room. His sleepy eyes follow Freddie as he sits on the empty chair beside the examination table, awkwardly folding his oversized limbs into the small space.

Auston can’t stop staring at Freddie. He’s still dressed in his bar hopping clothes and his ginger hair is messy, like he’s run his hands through it a couple times. His face is faintly sweaty, as if he ran all the way here.

Auston wants to drag an explanation out of him, but Freddie derails that plan by reaching out and taking his hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Auston’s words dry up in his mouth and he stares at their hands: linked together, while he, Matty, sits on the wax paper, and he, Freddie, slouches on the flimsy chair. Auston flushes because they’re holding hands, and Auston is letting them. They sit there, holding hands in silence, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Auston is startled to realize that maybe it is.

 

**A Soft Epilogue**

 

It's 2 a.m. and Freddie is awake.

Not the ugly wakefulness of most moments past midnight, but a soft and contemplative one.

There's a small gap between the blackout curtains and the light of the full moon is tenaciously reaching inside to touch Freddie's face as he blinks away the grit of sleep.

Just as he considers getting up to do something, the heat against his left side shifts. Looking down, Freddie smiles once -- a small, graceful curve that seems at odds with his body's physicality -- and turns onto his side so he can curl up behind Auston. 

Auston's hitched breathing smooths out into soft snores as Freddie wraps his arm around him, pulling him close. Freddie listens to Auston's steady breathing for a minute, before placing a kiss on the nape of his boyfriend's neck. Then he closes his eyes, and lets sleep have them.


End file.
